It was difficult to see much of the living quarters, illuminated only by the light of the television screen which blared live footage from the Biathlon. There were lights, of course, but they were rarely used. The old elf’s eyes were no longer willing to endure brightly-lit rooms - far too worn by snow blindness in their youth. Of course, they did not ever complain of the condition. Though their hands had not been calloused by hard labour, they were still Kæra. It was a matter of pride to not be weighed down by ailments, and they were certain it did little to impede their work.
The quarters were somewhere between minimalistic and brutalistic - something their sole resident would call utilitarian. It was more comfortable than the average communal area, yet notably not as comfortable as many top-ranking officials liked to keep their residences. Something of a paradox, in which it could neither be called in touch with the common people nor the grand display of dictatorial luxury. Though, to many, the state they led made just as little sense. Kosaky’s place of residence, as was their nation, a construct of the twisted philosophy that would have the world work themselves to death for the sake of work, and order untold death for the betterment of all.
At this moment, however, there was no doctrine. None of the rhetoric or philosophy they were happy enough to rally the masses with. Kosaky was simply watching the athletes ski, admiring the physical prowess that their colleagues in Purity would no doubt rave about as a prime example of genetic advancement. They took a sip of the whisky, one of the few imported luxuries they were rather fond of - rather than the near-flavourless vodka they had reluctantly allowed the agricultural sector to continue producing to warm a person through.
Kosaky did not make himself appear a grand autocrat in that moment, weary eyes fixed on the screen as the upbeat commentator remarked on the impressive times of a young skier. Still, they knew well enough they would never have a meeting that intersected with a biathlon event. Whether that meant moving the meeting, or moving the time the sport began. Even the most humble dictator would receive perks, even without the uttering of an order.
Such is the way of being so firmly planted upon the proverbial throne. When the keys to power are either appeased or afraid, it is as if the world around you bends to your unspoken will. For a senile old ideologue like Koskay, that meant this dingy little room with television and a drink.
Perhaps, when residing in a state where death is such a common practice, and avarice is made doctrine, there is nothing more a person could desire than to rarely look upon the world outside beyond the circuses.